


Derek's Way of Apology (Love Stories Come to Life)

by ArchangelRoman



Category: Sabrina the Teenage Witch (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Drabble, Fluff (I tried), Humor, M/M, PWP Sort of, Sabrina The Teenage Witch (TV) AU!, TeenageWitch!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelRoman/pseuds/ArchangelRoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles being a witch sort of... complicates his and Derek's relationship.</p><p>A/N: Wrote this for a friend, it's unbeta'd and it's crap. You have been warned. =/<br/>P.S: I may rewrite this.... in the distant future, when I'm bored. Until then, it'll have to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derek's Way of Apology (Love Stories Come to Life)

Stiles sighs as he stares down at the blank sheet of paper on his desk. “Maybe I can make it write itself,” he murmurs as he pulls out the Magic Book and begins searching through the book for something that’ll make his essay write itself. After five minutes of searching the book, he found nothing on having an essay write itself, but he did find something on magical writing.

After reading the instructions carefully, Stiles stands and points his finger. A stream of orange-gold particles shoots from Stiles’ index finger and fly through the air and to the table. The particles swirl around and materialize a regular number two pencil. But before Stiles has a chance to test the spell though, the doorbell rings. He groans and calls, “I’ll get it!” before bounding down the stairs and pulling the door open. He arches a brow and asks, “Scott? What are you doing here?” 

Scott stands on the opposite door and seems to be blushing. He won’t meet Stiles’ eyes, preferring to look over Stiles’ shoulder apparently. “You know that magic typewriter you told me about?” 

Around the same time that Scott got transformed into a wolf was about the same time Stiles discovered he was a witch. Upon discovering his best friend’s secret, he revealed his own and that’d made their friendship even closer. Stiles was there through all of Scott’s werewolf problems and Scott was there through all of Stiles magical mishaps. They’d share more than what any normal friends would have in the past four years; like a magical typewriter, for instance. 

Stiles found it by accident when the power in their house went out and his laptop died. At the time, he had no other means of writing and he wasn’t as in control of his magic as he is now. So he used the typewriter, discovered that it’s real, and he and Scott have often used it in the past to cure boredom. 

“What about it?” Stiles asks, stepping aside and silently inviting his friend in as Scott is always welcome. 

“I kind of want to borrow it,” Scott confesses, not meeting Stiles’ eyes. 

Thought it was obvious Scott didn’t want to talk, Stiles just had to be a prick. On the way up the stairs, Stiles innocently asked, “What’re you going to use it to do?” 

Scott scratches at his neck and his face reddens. “Oh, you know...” 

And that tells Stiles everything he needs to know why Scott needs the typewriter. As he gets to his room though, he doesn’t see it in his closet where he left it. “That’s odd,” he murmured before making his way down the stairs, calling for his father as he went. 

“Down here,” Sheriff Stilinski called. As Stiles approached his work desk, he folded the folders closed. His eyes scanned to the other moving figure in the room behind Stiles’ shoulder. “Hey, Scott,” Sheriff greets with a warm smile. 

“Hi, Sheriff,” Scott replies with a wave and a smile of his own. 

“Dad,” Stiles calls and regains his father’s attention. “The Magical Typewriter, what did you do with it?” 

The Sheriff’s eyes scan Scott and then Stiles. After a long moment of silence, he finally asks, “What do you need it for?” 

Honestly Stiles should’ve seen it coming, but he didn’t. He just thought his dad what tell him what he was looking for before he did something completely stupid like make his own or something. “I want to show Scott something I learned in the Magic Book.” 

“And you need _that_ typewriter?” Sheriff Stilinski asks skeptically. 

“Yes.” 

“Well I don’t have it for you,” Sheriff says, putting his glasses back on signaling that he was going back to work and that Stiles and Scott should leave. 

Scott moves to do that very thing but stops when Stiles asks his father another question. 

“Well where is it, then?” Stiles asks. 

“I gave it back to Aunt Hilda,” the Sheriff tells him. “I think your cousin Sabrina is using it now.” 

Stiles grumbles something unintelligible and stomps his way back up to his room with Scott following him. The moment they make it to the room Stiles beelines for the magic book, and begins rechecking his page on enchanting items for writing. 

Scott asks, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” He reads the page over Stiles’ shoulder and sees that it was a complicated spell as it dealt with people’s lives in various ways. 

“Trust me, Scott,” Stiles assures. “I’ve got my license.” 

“So you’ve passed some prewritten tests and figured out your family secret,” Scott shrugs. “What was your secret anyways?” 

“It was a list of every first name of the members of my family,” Stiles tells him and then shuddered. “If you saw it, you’d understand why it was a secret.” 

Scott thinks for a moment, and then asks, “Can I see it?” 

“Then it wouldn’t be a secret anymore,” Stiles argued. 

“Fair enough,” Scott said. 

Stiles raises his hands and close his eyes in preparation, “Any last reason why I shouldn’t do this?” 

Scott pretends to think for a moment before saying, “How about the fact that so many of your spells have gone wrong that you ran out of the amount of times you could wipe my mind?” 

Scott opens his eyes and turns to face his friend with a flat look. “Are you seriously never going to let that go?” 

“That’s a lot of mistakes, Stiles!” 

“You’re right,” Stiles says, sighing and giving in. “I shouldn’t do the spell. I should get my dad’s help.” 

“Good,” Scott agrees quickly, heading towards the door. “I’ll go get him, okay? No pointing or rhyming until I return. Got it?” 

Stiles mumbles petulantly. 

Scott yells exasperatedly, “Stiles!” 

“Alright,” Stiles complies. “I won’t do anything until you get back.” 

Scott eyes him for a moment and then heads towards the door. He stops and turns around at the last second, fixing Stiles with a last warning look before disappearing. 

When Stiles hears the sound of Scott jumping from the fifth step (a werewolf thing, Stiles thinks), he turns back towards the book. “Except cast that spell,” he murmurs so that Scott hopefully won’t hear him. Pointing a finger, Stiles conjures a typewriter onto the blank sheet of paper on his desk. It appears via a swirl of orange-golden particles. 

Closing his eyes and raising his right index finger to shoulder height, Stiles chants: “To help me end my best friend’s strife, empower this to bring stories to life!” and then points his finger at the typewriter. 

Lightning shoots from his fingertip and strikes the typewriter, transforming it instantly and enabling it to bring stories to life. The spell is just ending when Scott walks back into the room with Stiles’ dad in tow, sending off a few magical sparks here and there. 

“You alright up here, Stiles?” Sheriff Stilinski asks before his attention is drawn to the typewriter. 

“Fine, Dad,” Stiles assures. “I just did a little spell for Scott, that’s all.” 

“That’s all?” 

Stiles nods, “Just a tiny spell.” 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Sheriff Stilinski sighs. “Stiles, the last time you did just a tiny spell, police were involved.” 

Stiles gives his dad the same look he gave Scott. “Seriously, you two can never just let anything go, can you?” 

“Was it a neat spell?” The Sheriff finally asks. 

Stiles nods, “Straight from the book.” At his dad arched brow, Stiles hurries to say, “Okay, so I may have edited it, but no big deal! It works, I promise.”

Scott and the Sheriff share a look before Scott turns to his best friend. “If you believe it works, I believe in you.” 

“Looks like my work here is no longer required,” Sheriff says before he makes a fist and fades away in a golden mist. 

“So you’re going to write more you and Allison porn?” Stiles asks the moment his father is out of the room. 

Scott stares at his friend and doesn’t even play dumb. “Yes.” Not that he was eager to switch subjects; he’d just been meaning to ask, “How are things with you and Derek?” 

Stiles sighed. Ever since Derek found out that Stiles was a witch, the alpha has been avoiding Stiles like the plague. Stiles isn’t allowed at the wolf meetings anymore because of it. Not because Derek directly declared that Stiles wasn’t allowed, but more so his body language indicated that Stiles wasn’t allowed. And, since he was their leader, the other wolves usually ended up unknowingly ignoring him as well. Stiles is many things, but oblivious he was not. 

Scott still hangs out with him, though. And Isaac, he comes over sometimes too. The reason for their “break” is so stupid, though! He and Derek had been together for a long time, have been through a lot and to “take a break” over something that could potentially help them later is completely ridiculous. 

“They aren’t that good,” Stiles admits. If he couldn’t talk to Scott then he could talk to no one. Perhaps Derek, but they weren’t really speaking lately. “He doesn’t like the whole... witch thing.” 

“No, he doesn’t,” Scott agrees. “But I do know that he’s been pining over you.” 

Stiles shrugged, not letting the flutter of excitement in his belly mean anything. “Well, listen,” Stiles says, switching moods quickly. “You should get going, lots of smut to write and all that.” 

Scott laughs and holds his head up proudly. “Maybe you should write some smut, take your mind off of things.” 

“Oh, darn it,” Stiles says sarcastically. “I would, but I’m nowhere near your level of expertise. I guess I’ll have to do it later, in say four years.” 

“Why four years?” Scott asks, standing up and grabbing the typewriter. 

“To get a degree in English and publish a few books first,” Stiles explained. “What did you think it was for?” 

Scott jokes, “I thought it was for the amount of time your brain takes process things.” 

“Hardy, har, har,” Stiles says unenthusiastically. He then warns, “I’ve been working on my curses.” 

“Your magic doesn’t work on wolves,” Scott countered. 

Stiles made a buzzer sound, “Wrong. My magic doesn’t work on alphas, but don’t worry, I’ll get there.” 

“Right,” Scott says. The tone of his voice indicates he’s already moved on. “Do you mind...?” 

Stiles doesn’t laugh so much as let out a disbelieving “Ha!”Pointing the index finger of his right hand to his throat, Stiles charmed his voice to sound like Scott’s to say, “It’s a waste of your power to use magic for your own benefit.” He changes his voice back after that statement. 

Scott rolls his eyes, “This is heavy. Normally, neither of us could carry this across the street without dropping it.” 

“You’re not normal, Scott,” Stiles reminds him. Before Scott could protest, Stiles points a finger and Scott disappears via a spiral of orange-golden particles. 

With his best friend slash distraction gone, Stiles has nothing left on his desk but that pencil and paper he had before Scott even showed up at the door. Back to square one, he reckons when suddenly Scott’s voice is wringing in his head: “Maybe you should write some smut.” 

“Maybe that’s exactly what I need,” Stiles said to—he looks around—himself. 

Stiles pulls out his journal, the one he’d gotten when he was sixteen and first discovering his witchy abilities. It was a small black rectangle-shaped book bound with black leather and only unsealed by magic. Stiles’ magic. It was designed that way so no one but Stiles could look inside, not that anyone would want to read a bunch of sex stories about Stiles and his boyfriend anyways. 

He turns the journal over in his hand and frowns, there’s not any useless pages; they are all marked or scribbled on entirely. After a second’s debate, Stiles points a finger and the blank page from his desk fits down until it’s a part of the book and fits in seamlessly with the other pages. 

The moment the pencil hit the paper, it’s like he couldn’t stop writing. 

_Derek silently found his way into Stiles’ room late at night whilst the young witch was sleeping._

Stiles is so into his writing, that he doesn’t even notice as the scene in front of him morphs. Story-Stiles is peacefully asleep in Stiles’ bed and Derek silently enters through the window, walking up to the sleeping figure. He just stood there, waiting to be told what to do. 

_Derek hovered over Stiles’ bed, gazing down at Stiles with something akin to fondness. Gently, Derek reaches out a hand and wakes the young witch from his sleep. He grins when Stiles rubs the sleep from his eyes and rouses from slumber._

_“Derek? What’re you doing here?”Story-Stiles asks._

_“I miss you,” story-Derek confesses. “I couldn’t stand another minute being away from you. I don’t care that you’re a witch and I don’t care that you’re annoying and that you have stupid batman socks. I just want you... As my mate.”_

_Stiles gasps as he locks eyes with Derek. He hoped that their relationship could go back to normal, but he never dreamed it would come to this. “Derek,” Stiles managed to choke out, voice thick with tears and eyes moist with unshed tears. “I don’t know what to say.”_

A hand taps Stiles on the shoulder. 

Stiles turns his head sharply, dropping his pen and flying out of his chair. “Derek,” Stiles fumbles, almost tripping as he goes over to his door and closes it part ways to shield Derek from seeing... himself basically eye raping Stiles. “What are you doing here?” he asks when he’s casually leaning up against the door. 

“Well,” Derek says as he places a hand on Stile’s chest and applies a little pressure. Stiles stumbles back and Derek pins him against the wall by pressing their bodies together. “I came to make an apology, but apparently I already have.” 

Confused, Stiles follows Derek’s eyes back to his bed where two other versions of he and Derek are locked in some intense eye staring, Derek unable to reply as Stiles hasn’t written anything. “That’s not supposed to be there,” Stiles says quickly. “I admit I was writing the story, but I didn’t mean to bring it to life, I promise.” 

Derek turns his head to the journal on the desk and reads the words straight off the page. 

Stiles looks over at his journal, trying to find a quick, less mortifying way to end this. “I’m sorry,” Stiles starts, not meeting Derek’s eyes. Stiles didn’t think he’d be capable of handling seeing the disgust in Derek’s eyes. 

“What is,” Derek gestures towards the bed, “that?” 

“It’s a story. It’s not even real,” Stiles hurries on to add. “But like any other story, it can’t just... end.” 

Derek stares at the pair on the bed for a long moment before turning to Stiles. “Write more.” 

Confused, shocked, and in disbelief, Stiles sputters and trips over his words as he tries to get so many out at one time. “You-- _you_ , want me to continue writing that?” 

Derek nods and steps away as if he hadn’t just made a completely not-an-option request. 

“Oh,” Stiles says and sits down. “Okay.” 

But now that Derek is there, he doesn’t have the same type of... inspiration he had before, when he was alone. After five minutes, he finally sets the pencil down. 

“What’s the matter?” Derek asks as he watches Stiles. 

“I... Don’t know where I was going with that,” Stiles admits. “Scott just told me to write lots of smut.” 

“Get rid of that, and I’ll show you,” Derek promised, with a sexy grinned that implied Stiles was going to be sore later, but the good kind of sore. 

Stiles quickly wrote: _Stiles said yes and then they fucked and after, Derek and Stiles cuddled on Stile’s tiny bed while Derek wore a content smile listening to Stiles’ heartbeat._

Derek smiles fondly and shakes his head at Stiles. “I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “I shouldn’t have left you. It was wrong of me and I promise that I’ll never leave you again.” 

Stiles has trouble getting the words out of his mouth, seeing as his throat is clogged with emotion, “Okay, I forgive you. Are you my mate again?” 

Derek laughs, actually laughs as he gets up and makes his way over to Stiles’ bed. “For you to be my mate, you’d have to actually _mate_ with me.” 

Stiles just continues to stare. There was no way that they just... got over that hump like nothing? But then, Stiles reckons, Derek’s way of apologizing is usually in the bedroom with lots of scenting, licking, biting, and marking. 

Stiles accepts Derek’s way of apology. 


End file.
